Papercut
by Captain Zombie
Summary: When a girl is killed by a shadowy monster, Abe looks into it only as much as he would any other normal killing. But for some reason, this job intrigues him. Is his exploration of her life leading him down darker paths? Title based off of LP song. Post H2
1. Prologue: Faster

**Wow, people, I'm actually _posting_ something! Isn't that weird? I really am sorry for my absence - but I have great news! I finished writing my book! Hellyeah! _And_ I sent it in to a publisher (who rejected it, but who cares?). But I had this awesome idea, and I _had _to post it. This is just back story, so bear with it - our fav peeps pop in next chapter! This is movie-verse, by the way (after the second movie, which makes me kick myself because I'm such a die-hard comic-verse junkie). **

**So . . . enjoy!  
**

* * *

Prologue: Faster

"Will you _please _put that book away?"

She looked up from her notes and her copy of Stephen King's _Storm of the Century_ to her Drama teacher. His face looked all pinched and angry - just like every other day, when he caught her reading something other than _A Raisin in the Sun_ along with the others in class.

The teacher walked away without looking back, trusting her to put the book away. _Buuuuuuuut_ she didn't - this was the only time she'd get to take notes over it. And really, she finished this stupid play two weeks ago, when the rest of the class was on Act I.

The formatting of this book was so odd - he had written it as a _teleplay_ first, instead of a novel! So, if her deducting was right, then this was how _all_ teleplays were written! She had to write this down so she could remember it in case she ever wanted to write something like this.

"_Put the book away!"_ her teacher yelled at her, and with a sigh, she put the book and her notebook aside. The last thing she needed today was to get a phone-call home. Especially since _Dad_ was home - **no one** wanted to mess with Dad when he was home.

The next half-hour dragged on like an English class. The people in class spoke slower than turtle shit, and were just as bright. There were two groups, really - the drama people, who were in every play, and snubbed everyone, and the people there just for the easy A.

She had come for a bit of both reasons - it was either this or AP Calculus, and she loved acting in front of people. Though, normally, she was a shy loner, on stage she shined. It was the one thing she indulged in while in class - she took clear and careful advantage of her time on stage.

While timed passed painfully slow, she let her mind wander. Did the agency get her query yet? Where those pictures done? Was her iPod charged? Was her package at home yet? Why wouldn't her bands (numerous as they were) come to _her_ city?

Finally, once Act II, Scene iii was over with, the teacher took the stage. "Now, it's time to start presenting our solo projects."

She groaned with the rest of the class. These "solo projects" of his were his tool to see whether or not they could preform without the aid of others on stage (which is how half the class got through the period). _She_ had no problem with it, of course, but sometimes the guy could be so _rigid._ The man needed to loosen up and get laid or something.

He turned to her. "Why don't _you_ go first?" he asked amiably.

She stood, stretched, and let her junk fall to the floor. As she walked up to the stage, her backpack sat abandoned by her seat. Deep down, she really didn't care for it other than it was her brother's once upon a time. And the only things she held dear where in her pockets.

The stage. It smelled like fresh paint from the set for the new play. No one was paying attention to her, but she didn't care - that was going to change in just a second.

"_Is it still me that makes you sweat?  
Am I who you think about in bed  
When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress?"_

The class had quieted down now, and her teacher was glaring at her - he wanted her to _act,_ not _sing._ But she would've pointed out that he just said "do something on stage by yourself", not "act a solo scene".

"_Well then think of what you did  
And how I hope to God he was worth it  
When the lights are dimming and your heart is racing as your fingers touch your skin-  
I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck-"_

Her teacher frowned at the F-bomb being dropped so easily-

"_Than any boy you'll ever meet,  
Sweetie you had me-"_

Someone in the front row started screaming. Everyone was screaming. They were running . . . even the teacher, who wasn't supposed to run, even in the face of a school shooting. So she stopped singing and looked backward.

It was a large shadow-looking thing, with pinprick red eyes and a slash of gray for a mouth. Its presence had killed the stage lights, and the only light in the entire auditorium was way in the back. Even though she had never seen one before, she knew what it was.

"_Nephilim."_

Shadow warrior. Shadow killer. Made of the darkness of human souls. She'd read about them - hell, she _wrote_ about them.

"Seems fitting, don't it?" she whispered to herself. "That you're here for me?"

It dove at her and into her chest, and she could feel its cold, clammy hands around her heart, and it was ripping ripping _ripping-_

The next thing she knew, it was floating before her, with her still-beating heart in its hands. Her body was failing, falling, crashing . . .

"_Let's get these . . . teen . . . hearts . . . beating . . . faster! . . . faster!"_ she muttered breathlessly before closing her eyes and diving for the light.


	2. Flying Blind

"I can't believe you let it get _away,_ HB!"

Abe grimaced. Really, in this nicely-shaped auditorium, everything echoed and there was _no reason_ for Liz to be yelling like that.

"It ain't my fault!"

Neither did Hellboy for that matter.

The auditorium was nice - clearly, this school valued either the performing arts or the teacher to keep the place looking in such pristine condition. The seats were green and soft, the steps and aisles were carpeted, and the stage was clean and had the look of recent paint.

Of course, it would've looked better if there wasn't a dead girl sprawled in the middle of it.

Abe strode up to the body and looked down at it sadly. She had long mousy brown hair and scars on her face (no doubt from acne of some sort) and - there really was no nice way to say this - was a bit on the pudgy side (she _had_ to be nearly two-hundred pounds, _easy)._ Her shirt was large and black, displaying movie art from a recent horror movie, and her corduroy pants were maroon for some reason. Her fingernails were unpainted and dirty, her shoes were old and falling apart, and she had the look of a basically unkempt teenage girl.

Except for her eyes. They were bright blue. Not sky blue - these were two dark for that. The color of the sky as the sun went down, that darkened blue that still looked bright. They were wide opened, and were staring at the thing that killed her.

The only thing that he could get from the students was that it was a large shadow-thing with red eyes. They were all in shock, and after he (mostly Liz) had talked to them, the police had them taken home.

But the teacher was still here. He was skinny, with thinning brown hair and deep-set wrinkles and glasses. Sitting behind his desk, he hadn't moved or spoke since they had arrived.

Abe finally walked up to the man and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder (thank God he still had his gloves - one touch of this man would've driven him _mad)._ "Sir, I know this is very hard for you," he said quietly, "But it would help us greatly if you could tell us what you saw."

The man didn't say anything for a moment, but then he said, "She . . . she . . . she wouldn't . . . she wouldn't _run . . ._ she stared at it . . . . stared . . . like . . . she _knew_ . . . . she _knew_ it . . ."

She knew what killed her? "Was she . . . eccentric?" Abe asked. "Did she show any proficiency in prestidigitation or anything of the like?" Often, children with ESP or psychic skills resorted to simple magic tricks to get the attention of their peers. He'd seen it before.

The man shook his head. "She . . . didn't . . . . run . . ." he repeated. It seemed to be the only thing he could say.

Abe sighed. Nothing more could be gained here.

"Liz?" he called gently. "Do you see anything over there?"

"I _thought_ I did," she snapped, "But _Red_ scared it off!"

Abe rolled his eyes. The honeymoon period had wore off these two at least a year ago, and the "new babies" buzz had wore off a couple weeks ago. Now they were a couple arguing and making up at odd intervals. In many ways, it was awkward. In even more ways, they scared more people fighting than with looking at them (for a change).

Abe looked back at the body, and knew he had no choice - if he wanted an accurate description of what had happened here, he'd have to touch something of hers.

He strode over to the body and bent down for a closer look (he avoided her staring eyes; even dead, they still seemed to pierce his soul). There was something in her pocket - something quite large. He worked at it for a moment, and finally pulled out a hard plastic-covered piece of equipment with headphones - an iPod. Like every _other_ teen in the world.

He carefully pulled off one of his gloves and gently place his bare hand on it.

_Woosh!_ Like a corporeal wind, the memories that the device had held hit him. Not only did he get a good look at what killed the girl (it was exactly like everyone described it - large, shadowy, red eyes), he got whatever load of emotion the thing was holding.

_-Pirating-_

_-Bopping her head in the car-_

_-dishes-_

_-anger-_

_-frustration-_

_-depression-_

Abe tore his hand away from it and let the thing fall to the floor with a loud _crack!_ The girl had carried this thing like a security blanket - it was so overloaded with memories and feelings, it was like a personal backup to her brain.

He got up and pulled out a small notebook from his pants pocket (actual _pants_, not the shorts he was so used to - Red had said that the less exposed skin in this weather, the better). When they had left the BPRD, he hadn't gotten to go back and take any of his books, so he had found a cheap notebook and had written down everything he could remember. Oh, damn it all! How he missed those books!

Unsurprisingly, he couldn't find anything in his notebook about shadow creatures. Nothing at all.

"Abe!" Liz shouted as she got closer (really now, did she have to be _so loud?). _"What killed her?"

He turned to her, and said, "I don't know."

For the first time in his career, he was flying blind.

* * *

**Wow, two chappies! I hope you guys enjoy this!**

**On a more serious note, please keep the people of Japan in your thoughts when you read this - they need our help and our money, and if you're like me, you're totally broke until you can go panhandle somewhere downtown.**

**So goodnight, all. R+R if you could, pulease.  
**


	3. Beneath My Skin

Abe paced his diminutive room in stoney silence. He _should_ know what killed that girl - he knows that he'd seen it before. Why the thought was escaping him, he couldn't figure out.

Of course, it didn't help in the slightest that his mind was clouded with thoughts from that girl's music player. He kept getting little flashes - her hands as they sank into dirty dishwater to fish out a far-flung fork, a window by a bed in a room he'd never seen before, among others. It was discerning to say the least.

He tried to focus on other things. He thought of the run-down apartment he, Hellboy, and Liz were forced to live in. He thought of the renovated bathroom he slept in, and the lack of any worthy reading material to be found anywhere _near_ it. He thought of the rough neighborhood that lit up with gunfire at night. He even thought of Nuala, despite the ache in his heart when he did. But nothing did it. It was an itch that couldn't be itched - like it was underneath his skin.

Eventually, he threw up his hands in frustration. Really, now, why in the _world_ was this girl popping to mind more than his _own_ thoughts?

He burst out of his bed(bath)room and made a mad dash to the 90's era computer that graced a small desk in the corner. The apartment that he, Liz, and Red lived in was small - one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen/living/dining room. The desk sat near the only window, next to a permanently sagging couch and a chronically groaning chair and a fuzzy television.

The computer was slow, but eventually, he managed to pull up a search engine. He thanked the gods that Liz and Hellboy were out (they claimed to be out talking to more people about the girl's death, but he knew from the missing change from the grocery money jar that they were at the new "all-you-can-eat" buffet down the street).

He typed in "shadow monster".

Eight _million_ hits.

Stupid computer.

He tried "killer shadow monster".

Stupid search engine! Okay, now he was treading water in the realm of "video game geeks". This wasn't working. _Nothing_ was working! This was hopeless!

A flash of something - one of _her_ memories.

"_Nephilim."_

What? _What?_ He almost wanted to look around the room to make sure he was alone (it had felt like someone had whispered it into his ear).

"_Seems fitting, don't it? That you're here for me?"_

Her teacher was right - she _didn't_ run. She stared it down, with acceptance of her fate. It was so . . . _odd._

He typed in "nephilim shadow monster".

And what did he hit? _The Falling and The Fallen - _written by the dead girl.

* * *

If he knew how hard it was to get a book from this stupid library, he wouldn't've bothered.

After donning a long coat and his favorite fake beard, he locked up the apartment and beat a path to the library around the corner. The book was easy to find - it was right in the middle of the flipping building on a table displaying new and loved books - but the librarians were acting childish.

When did they start asking for ID to get a card?

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I can't let you get that card without some valid ID," the librarian sighed.

"I do not _have_ one," Abe replied, exasperated. "But I _need_ this book, and this is the only way I can _get_ it."

"There's nothing I can do," he sighed. The librarian looked like some punk teenage kid, with dyed black hair and several piercings on his face. "Really. You need ID for a card, and you need a card for the book."

"I _need_ this _book!"_ Abe snapped. "There are _lives_ at stake!"

The librarian glared at him for a moment before saying, "_Look,_ buddy, first off, do _not_ yell at me. Because I swear ta _God_ I will _end_ you." A pause. "Second, you want that damn book so bad? Just _take_ the damn thing! God, just remember to drop it back in when you're done, n'kay?"

Abe started at the idea. This kid was asking - no, _telling_ - him to trust him. "Thank you," he said.

"No prob," the librarian shrugged. "Besides, that book was _so_ last month. We can't even _pay_ people to take it."

**

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**Oh wow, look, I updated! Isn't that neato? (Yeah, I just said neato. Get over it. NEATONEATONEATO). But anyways, I'd like to thank you guys for all the good reviews! Yea! I love you guys, you know that? **

**Oh, and I have to give my view on Nuala: NUALA WAS A HORRIBLE HORRIBLE %*$# WHO BROKE ABE'S HEART AND RUINED HIS LIFE AND I'M MOSTLY GLAD THAT SHE DIED. THERE. I SAID IT!**

**Alright, I'll get to work on our next chapter (I'm telling you now, this fic isn't going to be too long), and since it's SPRING BREAK, I promise the chapter in the next couple of days. So read and review, and have a happy weekend!**

**~Izzy  
**


	4. Hide Your Body

"Wow, Abe, never took you as one to read teen lit."

Abe jumped from the page he was reading. He hadn't heard Liz knock or come into his bed(bath)room. He had been sitting in a tub of lukewarm water and was probably about a quarter through the book.

"What?" he said.

"_The Falling and The Fallen,"_ Liz pointed to the book in his hand. "That's _total_ teen lit. What's up with it."

"Our dead girl wrote it," he stated, going back to the book. "I think she wrote about what killed her."

He didn't see Liz roll her eyes, but he could feel the disbelief rolling off her in waves. "Abe, she didn't _write_ about what killed her. Ten to one says the book is a teen romance, like all the _other_ crappy teen writers out there."

He said nothing, and she left.

* * *

_The thing was large. That's all she could see at first. Just a large shadow, standing at the foot of her bed. She wished that she had remembered to bring her brother's hockey stick to bed, but it was nothing more than wishful thinking made by a panicking girl. There was nothing she could discern from the shadow, other than two red pinpricks that must've been its eyes._

_Who knows how long she stared at it? She couldn't tell. But after staring at it for what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke: "Yes? You need something?"_

"_**You shine in the dark,"** the shadow said. **"Do you know that? You shine. Like . . . like a flashlight."**_

Abe was right: she _did_ write about what killed her. But Liz was half-right, too: it was like teen romance on downers.

He didn't know why he was still reading it. He finished three (or was it four?) times already. But he felt like there was something he was missing. Something important. He _had_ to be missing something. _Had_ to. There was no reason that he should be missing so much.

After flipping through the book, ignoring all the knocks on his door, and nearly dropping the book in his full tub of water, he finally decided to call it a night.

That was the first of many nights he dreamed about her.

But this didn't feel like a dream, this first encounter (and later, he would find out, it _wasn't_ a dream, but that was later). He was suddenly awake and sitting in his bathwater, and the girl was sitting on the closed seat of the toilet.

Forearms resting on her knees, one hand fiddling with two large rubber bracelets on her opposite wrist, and a pair of limp white headphones snaking our of her pocket and disappearing into the mass of hair surrounding her head. She actually had on a pair of large clunky black-and-white glasses. But he could still feel her blue eyes were on him as her hand kept flipping part of the bracelet and letting it _pop!_ back.

Flip. _Pop!_ Flip. _Plop!_ Flip. _Pop!_

But she wouldn't speak. Not a word. Not a single goddamn word to give him some sort of clue.

Not that he didn't try to get her to talk. He asked her questions concerning her death - "Do you know what killed you? Why did you write that book? Why didn't you run?" - but she didn't speak.

However, when he asked about why she didn't run, she smiled. It wasn't a coy smile, or a faint smile - this was a cruel smile, that would've chilled the normal person to the bone. It was enough to make his insides squirm with anxiety.

It was the all-knowing smile of a ghost.

* * *

He awoke with a jolt, splashing some of the now ice-cold water onto the floor. The girl wasn't sitting on his toilet; he was completely alone. Thanks to the lack of clock and window, he couldn't tell what time it was, but he knew it was somewhat early.

He was going to dismiss the entire thing as a dream (as he often did when he had those horrifically realistic dreams of Nuala), but then he saw the bathroom mirror. Someone had drawn on it with black marker.

_**HIDE YOUR BODY FROM THE SCARECROW.**_

A shudder went down his spine.

**

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Okay, FF . Net is pulling a stupid move here, but I hope you guys like this chappie!  
**


	5. HollowPoint Smile

He didn't tell Liz or Hellboy about the not-dream, but he had to show them the writing on the mirror.

"Who's the Scarecrow?" Liz asked. "D'you think that's what killed her?"

"Who the hell even got _into_ the place to write this?" Hellboy asked. He swiped the mirror with his flesh hand, making the mirror squeak. The writing didn't move or fade.

"I don't know," Abe replied to both questions. "I'm assuming it has something to do with the girl, though."

"Well, duh!" Liz retorted. "Do we have any other jobs that'll threaten us like this?"

"Not unless you think the thing possessing Mrs. Harkins's daughter is now calling itself "The Scarecrow"," Hellboy dead-panned.

* * *

He had to find out about the book. _Had_ to. So, while Hellboy went to deal with the possession of Lilly Harkins and Liz went grocery shopping, Abe went back to the high school. None of the school security thought he was coming back, but they were most amiable with letting him in.

"Just don't stir up the kids," one of them said.

The first room he stopped in was the auditorium. Class was going on, but they all stopped once they saw him. The teacher - Abe really couldn't remember his name, or if he even got it - came forward and asked, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Is this the class that she was in?" Abe asked.

The teacher nodded, assent.

"Then I need to talk to them. _All_ of them."

Once again, the teacher nodded, and turned to the students, who had all been staring. "I expect you all to give your fullest attention to Mr. . . . uh . . ." he turned to Abe inquisitively.

"Sapien."

"Mr . . . _Sapien_ while he asks you a couple questions." The teacher turned again, and motioned towards the group of students as if to say, _All yours, pal._

Abe scanned through the crowd of people. "Who knew the girl who died?" he asked.

Everyone gave non-committal shrugs.

"She was cool with everyone," one of the younger students closer to him said. "Didn't really tell much."

"Did she have any friends in here?" Abe asked. "Close friends?"

No one answered.

"Did she mention a book?"

"Dude!" a tall scruffy-looking young man in the back row stood up. "I touched her book once, and she was all, _Dude, don't touch my book!_ and I was all _Dude, I just wanted to look,_ and she was all, _You touch my book again and I'll kill you!_ That chick was _whack,_ dude!" He sat down once again.

"What about a book she wrote?" Abe tried. "Anyone hear any mention of that?"

Nothing. At all.

"Anybody know her class schedule?"

* * *

The next room was called the "News" room, where all the journalism students were. The moment he stepped through the door, he was pounced on by no less than five students.

"Do you know what killed her?"

"Is it true you work for the government?"

"Is there a reason the cause of death isn't being released to the press?"

"Will the school be closed down?"

"Was she or was she not high on Mountain Dew?"

A robust bald man broke through the crowd and said, "_People! Get back to work!"_ When the crowd dispersed, he turned back to Abe. "Sorry 'bout that," he said. "They're still . . . a little shaken."

"It's understandable," Abe nodded. "She was a friendly writer then, yes?"

"Oh yeah," the teacher said. "One of the best writers I've ever had. Friendly enough, unless she was having a rough time at home."

"And do _you_ know about the book she published?"

The teacher gave a look of complete shock. "She got it _published?"_ he asked. "I knew she wrote one, and that she sent it in, but I didn't know that it actually got _published!"_

Abe felt his hopes sink. "So you haven't read it, have you?"

"No. Wouldn't let _anyone_ look at it."

* * *

The next night, he dreamt about her again. It was different, though. Instead of finding himself in his familiar bathtub, he was sitting in a plastic booth in a little burger joint. He was sitting next to a glass wall, and he could see a busy street and a line of pathetic-looking houses. The burger joint wasn't busy, with only a couple people behind the counter milling about.

The girl was sitting across from him. Her hands were folded neatly on the table, and he could see some writing on the back of her hand. A heart, with **BULLETPROOF** written across it.

"I used to live near here," she stated, surprising Abe a bit. Her voice was soft, like she was in reverence of the place. "Down the block, across the street. Three trucks. None mine." She grinned (nicer than she did last time) slightly at the thought. "Dah used to hate me coming down here."

She looked up at him. "You're wondering about me. Well, about the _real_ me, anyways. I'm nothing more than a figment of your imagination to help you figure things out."

"The glasses?" he asked. "The restaurant? The writing?"

"You got this from the real me's iPod," she shrugged. "Like you said - it was my security blanket. I carried that thing everywhere and thought of _everything_."

"So why are we here?"

"Hey, man, it's _your_ head, not mine." A beat. "But maybe because this is your brain's way of telling you where I live so you can talk to my 'rents."

"And the writing on your hand?" he asked. This was getting too weird.

"Nonya business, mate!" Another pause. "You seriously never heard the song? _I've got a bullet-proof heart . . . You've got a hollow-point smile . . . _The best line in the song is closer to the middle. _Tell the truth and God will save you." _She gave him an innocent look. "Is it true? If I tell the truth, will God save me? Because I have so much to come clean for."

"So you like the song enough to tattoo it across your hand?"

"God, man, can't my biz stay _my_ biz?" Another pause. "Besides, it's Sharpie." She lifted up the edge of her sleeve, revealing a giant blue spider with a lightning bolt on the abdomen. "_This_ is the tattoo, mate. The American Widow."

"Why do you do that?" he snapped. "Act one way then another?"

She leaned forward, that cruel all-knowing ghost smile on her lips. "Remember what I said," she stated, "This is your way of remembering things you _need to remember._"

"So . . . you act different ways around different people?" he asked.

"Bingo!" she shouted. "Yahtzee! We got a winneh!" Another pause. "So what have we learned?"

"You're two-faced. And therefore, have secrets."

"Yes."

"You like this . . . certain brand of music."

"Yes."

"You live near a restaurant."

"Affirmative."

Another thought hit him. "And what about the Scarecrow?"

"Think hard, Abraham. What do scarecrows _do?"_

"They guard corn?"

She made a buzzing sound: "_EEH!"_

"They scare crows?"

"_EEH!"_ She leaned in closer. "They guard against interlopers. Intruders. _People who aren't supposed to be there_."

**

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Wow, that sounds a little freaky, don't it? Sorry the last couple of chapters were short - hopefully, this one makes up for it. And so close to the posting of the last couple chapters, too! I must REALLY like you guys!**

**Okay guys, thanks for all the reviews! I'm so happy I could nearly die. Sersly. (Yes, I typed that the way I say it. I also pronounce "Here" as "Her" and "strawberry" as "strawberr"). Sorry for all the _Danger Days_ references, but I'm in a Killjoy mood . . . . :D  
**

**So, R+R folks. And have a happy SATURDAY NIGHT!**

**~Izzy~**


	6. Remember Me

After that dream, Abe broke down and told Liz and Hellboy everything - from his dreams, to the discoveries made at the high school, to what he discovered in the girl's book.

"So apparently, not only did the Scarecrow-nephilim thing kill her, it's gonna come after us, too?" Liz asked slowly.

"I do not think that is what she was saying," Abe replied. "I think what she was telling us was _why_ it killed her."

But Liz wasn't having any of it. She had her arms crossed over her stomach and was staring off into space. He knew she wasn't thinking of them; she was thinking of her unborn children.

Hellboy figured it out, too, and said, "Blue, you gotta call this thing off."

"Call _what_ off?" Abe asked.

"This wild _goose_ chase you're on!" Hellboy snapped. "We know what killed her, and that's _all_ they're payin' us for! We have other things to do that don't involve . . . . _this!"_

He knew that Red and Liz were only thinking of their kids; he could've been rational about the whole thing. The usual "Abe" thing to do would've been to explain in full detail _why_ he had to finish this. They would understand.

But he wasn't feeling very rational at the moment.

"I have _got_ to do this!" Abe snapped. "I _need_ to fill in the blanks! I need the _reason!"

* * *

_

Against their wishes, Abe went back to the school. He needed her records, and more importantly, her address. Security let him pass again, and he headed straight for the main office (after getting directions to it from the security personnel).

After another set of directions, he found the principal's office. The principal was an elderly, skinny woman with iron gray hair and a serious look about her.

"You're here about the girl, right?" she asked right away.

"Yes," Abe stated. "I need her school records."

A beat of silence. "Of everything I could give you, that's the one thing I _can't,"_ she said with finality. "Why do you need those?"

"I need her address," Abe said. "I need to talk to her family."

The principal looked around the room, as if they were being watched, picked up a pen from the desk, and started scribbling something down on a piece of paper. "If you tell _anyone_ you got this from me, I'll deny everything," she threatened. "And then I'll come after you."

"I won't tell a soul," he promised.

* * *

The house the girl had lived in was one of the pathetic-looking hovels he'd seen in his dream. And true to the dream, across the street like a disgusting-looking burger joint with glass walls.

The house was off-white, and did indeed have three pick-up trucks parked in front of it. The concrete stairs were falling apart, the grass was dead, and the screen door was broken.

He managed to open it, though, and knocked on the hardwood door. He could hear muffled footsteps and shouts, but no one opened the door, even after he knocked again. Just as he was about to call it off and head for home, the door opened and a harried-looking woman with dark hair and a lined face appeared. In her hands was a large basket of laundry that was about to fall.

"Yeah?" she snapped.

"I'm here about your daughter," Abe said. The woman's grip weakened, and Abe had to reach out to catch the basket before it fell. That shocked the woman back to her senses, and she tore the basket from his grip and set it down just inside the door.

"You know you're the tenth person I've dealt with in the past couple days," she informed him. "And I'm getting pretty tired of it. So why don't you ask what you need to ask and get the hell off my property."

"You don't understand," he said, "I'm investigating your daughter's death."

"You're right - I _don't_ understand," the woman snapped. "I was told it was medical. Heart attack or something. What _you_ think happened?"

"She was killed by a monster of supernatural origins," Abe stated. "May I come in? I need to see her bedroom."

The woman gave him a wary look before saying, "Come on it. Her room's upstairs."

As it turned out, her room (which she shared) took up the entire attic. Her bed lay in an alcove, and her desk sat next to it. On it, amidst the myraid pieces of junk, sat a small black netbook. The room was messy, with piles of books and CD's stacked everywhere.

Abe could hardly stand to be in the room. It was saturated with the girl's memories and essence. Scenes would flash before his eyes - her on her bed, her at her computer, her fiddling with a CD player and that infernal iPod . . . he couldn't stop it from happening, so he had to deal with it by stopping and trying to focus on scenes from his own life. _Red . . . Liz . . . Krauss . . . Manning . . ._

It worked for a while - long enough for him to go through the girl's desk. Nothing very interesting to be honest - just bits and pieces of junk that probably had some sort of sentimental value. That seemed to be the whole purpose of the desk, really - just a spot for all her sentimental junk.

The woman was watching him. "She loved being up her," she said. "Never wanted to come down." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "I always told her to keep her room clean," she whispered. "And now that she's gone, I can't make myself come up here to do it."

Abe tore his attention from the small computer long enough to say, "I'm very sorry for your loss." But the computer was his main focus. He knew of the girl's password to get one - _imurlie1339_ - but he also knew that whatever was on here, the girl _never_ wanted her mother to see it.

"I need to take this computer with me," he informed the woman.

"Go ahead," she said. "I don't want to see that stupid thing ever again. Want to take anything else?"

"HEY, LACEY! WHAT THE HELL YOU DOIN' UP THERE? WHERE'S DINNER?" a man's voice came barreling up the stairs.

The woman cringed at the shouting. "My husband," she said as a sort-of explanation.

"WHO'S UP THERE?" the man shouted again. There were some heavy feet clomping up the stairs, and Abe could see that the nearly seven-foot tall man was clearly drunk. "Who the hell're you?" he snapped.

"I'm investigating your daughter's death," Abe said.

"Don't bother," the man said. "I'm _glad_ she's dead."

"_Hank!"_ Lacey said in shock. "She was our _daughter!"_

"And do you know how much it woulda tooken to put her through college?" Hank snapped. "Good riddance. More money for a house." He turned to Abe and said, "Take what you want, and get the hell out. I don't want to see _you_ or that _thing_ again."

* * *

Abe hid the laptop under the unused bathroom sink before heading to bed(tub) and dreaming of the girl again. This time, they were at a park with a view of a sludgy-looking river. They were sitting on a bench, and the girl was throwing pieces of bread to pigeons that were flocking them.

"So you've met the real me's family, hm?" the girl said. "Not a nice cupatea, are they?"

"I can see why she felt the way she did," Abe said.

"You mean depressed, frustrated, and enraged?" the girl asked, smirking. "Yeah, you can see that now, can't ya?"

"So what did that have to do with anything?" Abe asked.

"You'll see," the girl said. "Just remember the places I'm showing you. You'll do that, right? Remember me and the places I'm showing?"

Abe looked around. "A restaurant and a park?" he asked in a dead-panned voice.

"The glass-covered city streets are better than the warm beds of home," she said in a whisper. "Just remember that, okay?"

* * *

**Wow, look! Another chapter! Happy days, eh? Okay, well, you know the drill. I'm off to convince myself that I'm not dying of Captain Trips :D**

**~Izzy  
**


	7. Better Hell

When Abe woke, he pulled out the laptop and quickly powered it up and entered in the password. The desktop was a giant blood-splatter, and the only thing visible other than the Recycling Bin was a document titled "READMEFIRST!" which he clicked on.

_Look, if you're here reading this, then I'm either dead or you stole my laptop. If you stole this, then PUT THE LAPTOP BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS._

_If I'm dead, then you need to know something. You need to know that I'm not a good person. I tried, but I'm probably in Hell while you read this. Better Hell than Purgatory, I suppose . . ._

_Anyways, like I said, I'm not a good person. I wrote bad things, I hurt people, and I know that most likely, my life will end horribly. So please, if you knew me before I passed, remember me in my good moments. If you didn't know me, believe me when I say that I tried._

It was dated the day before she was killed.

That was extremely creepy, really. Abe tried not to think too hard about how she accurately predicted her own death, and went on to search the computer.

_

* * *

May 5th_

_Another boring day . . . I'm so sick of how my 'rents treat me. Really. You'd think that I was their own personal slave or something. But I forgive them . . . I guess._

_

* * *

May 28th_

_Okay, I've been working on my book for almost a month now, but now I can't think of anything to write. Stupid writer's block!_

_

* * *

June 6th_

_Happy stupid birthday to me._

_

* * *

June 18th_

_Okay, I was hoping for an answer, but I wasn't expecting _that.

_This . . . shadowy thing found me. It followed me home and stood at the foot of my bed. For _real!

_-Yes? Do you need something?  
-You shine. Did you know that? You shine . . . like a flashlight.  
-A flashlight? *quizzical look*  
-Yes, like a flashlight.  
-Why, do you think?  
-Those that shine . . . they see.  
-See . . . ?  
-Us. Nephilim. *pause* You're not like the other humans.  
-Have you been watching me or somthin'?  
-Of a sort . . .  
-So what do you want?  
-Just to talk. That's all. I want to talk.  
-About what?  
-You.  
-Okay, so what do you want to know about me?  
-What is it like to be alive?  
-I thought you were a ghost.  
-I'm a warrior of the shadows. I've never been alive.  
-Okay . . . well, it's annoying. I'd trade to be a shadow warrior any day.  
-No you wouldn't. It's dreadful boring.  
-Tell me about it._

_He went on to tell me all about his world, his place in it and such. He told me he was a guard to keep people out, and he seriously made me start thinking about scarecrows, so that's his new nickname from me - Scarecrow. He wouldn't tell me his real name, anyways._

_

* * *

July 17th_

_I've been writing up a storm about Scarecrow. He just totally, like, awoke this writing monster inside me! It was _so_ weird! _

_I really hope Scarecrow doesn't find out . . . _

* * *

She'd been writing diary-like entries on her laptop for almost two years. Two _years._ And nearly all of them had to do with the nephilim.

Scarecrow.

As they went on, they wove a bit thicker story. "Scarecrow" told her all about the dark world of the nephilim, and had been sworn to secrecy. She had written it, and it was now the book _The Falling and The Fallen. _The book was already in stores by the time Scarecrow found out, and he was pretty pissed.

What was more weird than reading it was _picturing_ it, which he was doing with each touch of the keyboard. The final entry was just two words, no date or anything:

_They know._

Of course, that's not what the computer spoke of.

* * *

The girl was sitting at her computer, a joyous smile on her lips. She was reading an official-looking document from someplace called Little, Brown, and Co. Her glasses were falling off of her nose, and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun.

In the corner of the room, a large shadow was growing and growing until it just popped off the wall.

"Hey, Scarecrow, ma'man," she waved at him. "What's shakin', bacon?"

Scarecrow growled, "_I can't believe you wrote it down and __**published**__ it. You turned my race's secrets into a storybook for the pleasure of teenage girls!"_

Her face fell, and she turned dangerously pale. "I . . . I . . . I . . ."

Scarecrow came closer to her face and peered into her eyes with his red pinpricks. _"Do you know how much trouble you've gotten me into?"_ Scarecrow asked quietly. _"I'm being followed where ever I go. Every aspect of my life is now being investigated."_ Even quieter, he added, "_They say that if I don't deal with you myself, then they'll do it themselves. And they want _proof."

At this, she said nothing.

* * *

**Ooooh . . . . this sounds scary! I think we've found out our reason to be! (there's a french way to say this - I learned it from Skulduggery Pleasant - but I can't figure out how to spell it). I've been monstrously bored, and I had to sit and listen to my dah basically tell us how we're all assholes, so I'm not in a people-friendly mood. Expect another chapter tonight or tomorrow morning, and I bid you all adieu.**

**~Izzy  
**


	8. Lemme See Your Jazz Hands

Liz walked in on him while he was in the middle of going through the rest of the girl's documents. She had already started writing a sequel (called _The Rising and The Risen_, which seemed sort of lame to him), and it was proving to be darker than the initial novel.

"What's _that?"_ Liz shouted. "Abe, _did you steal a laptop!"_

"No!" Abe snapped. "This belonged to the dead girl. I'm just . . . investigating."

"_Still?"_ Liz put her hands on her hips. "Abe, I thought we talked about this already!"

He was going to retort, but Liz had darted forward and taken the laptop out of his hands. And before his eyes, she had set the hunk of plastic on fire.

"_NO!"_

It was too late to save it, but Abe sure as hell tried. He was going to take it from her and beat the flames out, but Liz threw it into his full tub of water, extinguishing the flame with a loud _HIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!_

Abe kept looking from the lump of burned plastic that used to be a computer to Liz. It felt like his insides just froze. He couldn't speak - not at first - but when he found his voice . . . well . . .

"_I cannot believe you just did that! HOW COULD YOU?"_

"Abe, _this thing is gonna come after us!"_

"_You won't even let me explain it!"_

"_WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN' ON?"_

That was Hellboy, coming home from Harkins's house. Needless to say, he didn't appreciate walking in on his best friend yelling at the mother of his unborn children.

"Abe's still investigating on that case!" Liz snapped.

Hellboy glared at him. "I thought we said we were done!" he growled.

Abe looked back and forth between the two. "I'm _close_ to figuring out the _entire_ story!" he tried to explain. _"So_ close!"

Liz gave a harsh sigh. "Look, Blue, we can't have this . . . _thing_ around here. I do not _want_ this thing _near_ here."

"Will you let me _explain?_ I do not think that this nephilim will come after us," he said.

"What makes you say that?" she snapped.

"The only reason that it went after her was because she revealed their secrets in her book," he explained.

"So, they run Mob-style?" Hellboy asked.

"A bit like that, yes. But it's more like a tribe protecting its people. She was dangerous to them . . . and she had to be neutralized."

Liz shook her head, walked over to the kitchen and grabbed the ancient corded phone off of the wall.

"Liz, who you callin'?" Hellboy asked.

"Ghostbusters," she said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes.

"Cool," Hellboy grinned. "Get their autographs for me."

* * *

"I cannot believe you have waited zis long to call," Johann stated.

Liz had called Johann and told him to meet them at the high school. When Abe asked why he couldn't just meet them at the apartment, Liz stated, "Because we're nipping this in the bud, Abe, and _she's_ not hanging around _here."_

Johann had agreed, and there they were. Liz and Hellboy refused to go, (their reasoning being that this was _his_ problem, not theirs), but they expected a full report (from _both_ Abe and Johann).

"I did not think that it was going to _get_ to this," Abe admitted.

"So you vish to speak vith ze dead girl?" Johann asked.

"Yes," Abe nodded. "I need to find out a couple things."

Johann gave a robotic nod. "Very vell."

Inside of the auditorium, instead of the class that had been there the last time, it was empty. Not even the teacher could be found.

"I don't-" Abe started to say.

"Hush," Johann interrupted, and paused. "Do you hear zat?"

"What?"

"A trumpet."

Abe gave the auditorium a puzzled look, and then strained to hear what Johann was talking about. After about five minutes of silence, he could _just_ make out the sounds of a trumpet blaring.

"Is zat her?" Johann asked.

"I think so . . ." Abe gave a small shrug - from what he'd seen of her, she'd never held a trumpet or played one. "So . . . should I try to speak with her?"

Johann gave another robotic nod, and Abe ventured forth to the middle of the stage. He gave Johann a backwards glance, who waved him forward, and finally said, "I know you're here, and I know you've been leading me to all those places. Now show your face."

There was a silence that rang out in the auditorium, and then . . .

"_I . . . I remember you. You were there the day I died." _There was another pause. _"Obviously, I'd appear to you, but I'm still new to this whole "being-a-ghost" thing. God, where's Sally when you flippin' need her?"_

"_Zat,_ I can help vith," Johann said as he walked up. He opened one of the many holes in his suit, and his ectoplasm began to flow.

"_Whoa, dude,that's nice!"_ The ectoplasm started to gather and mold itself into the dead girl's image. The only difference was that this time, she had a trumpet in her hands and a broad smile across her face. "_Now the playing field's leveled, eh?"_

"Why did you show me those things?" Abe demanded. "The writing on the mirror? And your home?"

"_Whoa, man, I only wrote some stuff on your mirror," _the girl stated. _"Anything else is from your own mind." _She gave a toot on the trumpet. _"I swear, the only thing I ask for is an iPod, and I get a trumpet. What the deuce? What did I do to deserve it? But anyways, yeah, I left you a message on your mirror. So what?"_

"Why?" Abe demanded.

"_Dude, you think I want what happened to me to happen to you?"_ the girl snapped. _"This ain't fun, man. Not fun at all. And besides . . . if you keep off of Scarecrow's radar, you'll stay off all their radars."_

"Vy vould any of zese zings come near zem?" Johann asked, sounding puzzled.

"_You shine,"_ she stated simply. _"You guys shine like frickin' lanterns in this place. The other guys - the red guy, and the black-haired chick who talks too loud - they shine too. Her especially. But mostly . . . mostly from the inside." _A beat. _"She's pregnant, isn't she? That shine o' hers is her kid's, too?"_

Mutely, Abe nodded.

"_Then you gotta make sure they don't mess with her,"_ the girl ordered. _"They might get attached to her. Like he did with me."_

"So that's what happened?" Abe asked. "He got attached to you, and had to kill you?"

"_A little,"_ she shrugged. "_But he's not the only one who got attached. It's . . . partially my fault, too." _She heaved a heavy sigh. _"But that's not the point. He got . . . _attracted_ to my shine. And when the nephilim get too close to a shine, they feel the need to make it theirs. And there's only one way to do it."_

"By killing zem," Johann stated.

"_Yes. Scarecrow, on the other hand, felt like he couldn't do it. He tried to prolong my life. And as you can see, it didn't work out too well."_

"How can I talk to him? Can I contact him?"

"_You don't. Most likely, he'll contact you."_

**

* * *

Wow, have you guys missed me? Sorry I took so damn long - my computer had that weird security virus, and I couldn't do anything until it went away. But it's all better now, so happy days, right? Enjoy this wee chappie, R+R (Yeah, Zipper, I'm back!), and wish me luck - I have SCHOOL now, and extra work shifts. *sigh***

**~Izzy**


End file.
